


Barriers

by ryfkah



Category: Hexwood - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryfkah/pseuds/ryfkah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing to stop him now from reaching for what he wants, except his own mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barriers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alona/gifts).



It had been a long, dull day with the Commissioner from Andromeda, who had an unfortunate affected tic of ahem-ing in the middle of every sentence. Now they were both feeling inordinately silly, and Vierran could not seem to stop doing impressions.

“Stop,” Mordion protested, wheezing “or I'll never be able to look the poor man in the face again.”

“That would be – ahem – unfortunate,” Vierran answered gravely; Mordion cocked an eyebrow at her and her straight face dissolved into another fit of explosive giggles. She rolled over and flopped onto him, drumming her heels against the couch and laughing herself weak.

Her top had slid up over her belly as she rolled. Mordion found himself spreading his hand over it to feel the way the round flesh jiggled with her laughter – he'd always thought her laughter was marvelous – which only made her laugh more. He leaned over her, smiling down. Her cheeks were pink and her lovely wriggly hair was coming out of its knot, and Mordion became aware that if he moved his hand up further she wouldn't object, and more, that he very much wanted to.

He wanted to, and he could. There was nothing to stop him.

It was like the shock of ice water. He stared at his hand, white and skeletal, splayed over her warm brownish skin. “I'm charming you,” he said, so sick at himself he felt physically nauseous. That had been all right when he was the Slave and it was harmless. What they were to each other now was far too important, and could go wrong far too easily.

Vierran was not laughing anymore. He lifted his eyes to see her scowling at him, pushing herself up on one elbow. “It isn't like that,” she said crossly. “I am not Ann Stavely of fourteen years, and you are being ridiculous.”

He tried to take his hand back, but Vierran placed hers stubbornly over it, glaring as if daring him to pull away. He wished she would let him; he was feeling sicker. “I was trained to use subtle persuasion to achieve a goal,” he said gently, trying to explain. “Of course those goals weren't mine before. But --”

“I knew what you meant. But it's not _charming_ someone if you're being _yourself_!” said Vierran, exasperated. “Have you thought about that?”

Mordion wanted to explain that being himself was not all that clear-cut. He did not know, sometimes, where his training ended and where he began. He had thought all himself was kept safe with the Girl Child, but the Girl Child was real now, not just a corner of his head, and the Bannus had shown him that things were not so easy as that.

But Vierran was angry already, and he didn't know how to say it. He closed his eyes and concentrated on trying to keep his breathing steady.

“You look really ill,” said Vierran, after a moment, abashed and remorseful. She let his hand go, and he almost jerked it away, but then he realized how she would almost certainly take that. He didn't want to hurt her, either. And soon he would be able to appreciate again the simple pleasure of contact; he was moving, slowly, back from the dangerous place. Instead he took her hand again and slid both hands off onto the couch between them, both a link and a barrier.

There was another short period of silence. “I know you think you can't have things that you want,” said Vierran, finally, when he still did not say anything. “But you could think that you're something I want, as well.” He opened his eyes then, and found her flushing red, but determined. “I am rather glad to be sure you do want me.”

Somehow Vierran had always been able to cut to the heart of the matter. He blinked at her, and then forced himself to examine the inside of his own head. The Reigners had built artificial blocks to prevent him saying or seeking things for himself. Those, of course, were gone. It seemed rather unfair that his own mind should have constructed its own blocks in the places they left, but that's what it appeared to have done, all the same.

It was both a good thing and a pity, he supposed, that Vierran was better than he at mind magic. “I'm sorry,” he said to her, feeling very tired. She started to shake her head, and then hesitated.

“No – well, no, but for the wrong thing. You _should_ be sorry for thinking I don't know you well enough to _see_ when you're trying to charm me.”

He managed a tired chuckle at that. “Guilty of overweening arrogance, as well as everything else.”

“You _think_ you're guilty of everything,” said Vierran tartly, but then her voice softened. “But I'm sorry too. I knew, but I didn't think.” He squeezed her hand, and she gripped it back. “We'll – we can do things very slowly.” She phrased it as a statement, but her voice was tentative, as if, perhaps, she expected him to say it wasn't worth it to face those demons; perhaps they had better continue on as the Slave and the Girl Child, as First and Second Reigner, after all.

“Yes,” he said, and smiled at her over their joined hands. He still couldn't think why she wanted him, but he _did_ want her, as much of her as he could have. And he was allowed to want that – however his mind might try to tell him otherwise. It would not be easy to teach himself he could reach for things after all, but with Vierran reaching, too, it could be done.


End file.
